The Voice on the Other Side
by Sassy Lil Scorpio
Summary: -InVasion- An extreme alternate universe take on the 2001 InVasion storyline. What if WCW and ECW had taken over the WWF using extreme measures? Stone Cold finds out the WWF's fate when he connects with the unseen voice on the other side.


**The Voice on the Other Side**

**A World Wrestling Federation Fanfiction by Sassy Lil Scorpio**

******Disclaimer:** All names mentioned in this fan-fiction belong to Titan Sports Inc, World Wrestling Federation (WWF), World Championship Wrestling (WCW) andExtreme Championship Wrestling (ECW).The writer makes no claim of ownership. No monetary gain is being made from this work.

**Dedication: **This fanfiction is dedicated to my roommate who loves wrestling and helped with this story, Adrienne. Adrienne thinks I never do my schoolwork! The night before 9-11, we were up till 4:30 AM laughing ourselves silly. Adrienne, you have a great sense of humor. I love you and my heart is with you always and forever.

* * *

The microscopic cell reeked of musty urine and dried up vomit that sliced through his nostrils like a sharp machete. His hands crept like a centipede to touch the sticky sweaty walls and he pulled back, sensing an invisible flame glowing in the recesses of his overactive imagination. He squatted and then sat on his knees. None of the positions were comfortable and he had the inkling to ram his bald head against the black walls of his hellacious prison. Instead, he sat on his rear, pressed his knees against his chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs. He leaned his head on his shoulder and suppressed a yawn yearning to escape from his tired soul.

Where had time gone? Time had been caught and whirled in a tornado. She did not land in the Land of Oz, but was thrown among the stars of deep space never to find its place on Earth again. There was a time when he had been the icon of rebellion against authority, the symbol of the oppressed feisty working-class man warring against his superior boss. The adulation of the fans, the screams, and chants of " AUSTIN! AUSTIN! AUSTIN!" would never leave his mind. Clinking and smashing two Coors beers together, allowing the drink to pour into his mouth like a sinful forbidden fountain, and kicking a beet-faced, Adam's apple popping Mr. McMahon around the ring---he missed it all. He would have it all back in a heartbeat, but he knew this could never be.

Who was he now?

He remembered that one's name was essential to an individual's identity.

"My name is Stone Cold Steve Austin."

That sounded right. He poked his head up and then let it droop again. His ice blue eyes were glued to the thin path of light shining from the door of his prison.

"Nice name. Care to share more info?"

He nearly jumped when he heard the voice from the other side---or was it the other side? He didn't even know where the low mellow voice had come from, but just hearing it made him feel better. Maybe he wasn't the only one thrown into a cramped cell that he could barely breathe in.

Maybe...

Then he began to wonder about what had happened to the other wrestlers. Why weren't they here? Why was he by himself? He could find out later. Right now, he felt better and could finally talk to someone. They could probably help each other out of this hellhole.

"My name is Stone Cold," He said again and pressed his ear against the wall playing telephone with whomever the voice belonged to.

"Go on. Tell your story. You might as well. We don't have much time here anyway."

"Much time?" The Texan was alarmed and his icy blue eyes widened at the secrecy in which the unseen person spoke of.

"Time is of the essence. For me it is. But I guess if you want to get anything off your chest, now is the time to do it, before they—" At this, the calm voice drew to a hush.

"Before they what?"

He waited and pounded his fists against the wall.

"Before they what? Damn it, tell me what ya know."

"I know nothing except most of us are gone and that it was a hostile takeover in the worst extreme. Anyway, enough of all that, talk about yourself. Get your story out."

"What do you mean they're gone?"

"They're gone as in gone. G-O-N-E. Gone."

"I have a good mind t'break down the wall and find out who the hell ya are talkin' cocky t'me like that."

"You're not gonna break through this wall anytime soon. So just talk and I'll listen. I have nothing else to do."

Stone Cold's breath rasped in and out with fright and anticipation.

"How long ya been here?" He asked wishing he could savor a sweet sip of beer.

"As long as you."

"How long is that?"

"Hell if I know."

"Ya sound like someone I know or used t' know."

"That's good. It will be easier for you to open up."

"Why are ya so eager for me t'open up like a clam?"

"'Cause I don't have much time left. I figure before I go, I'll be with one of my own one last time."

"What's that supposed t'mean?" Now Stone Cold was truly perplexed.

"Damn it, just talk already."

"I don't like your snappy attitude." He sighed and wondered for the thousandth time who was talking to him on the other side. He usually was not the open book type, but he figured it was time to let go and rip out some pages. Then he felt remorseful for his biting tone. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The Stone Cold I used to know—that _everyone_ used to know—never said sorry."

"So I guess I'll tell ya about myself."

"There is nothing you can tell me that I don't already know."

"What the hell is this game ya playin' with me?" Stone Cold jumped up and kicked the wall. He wanted to plow the wall down, but he only succeeded in ramming his body against the tiny confines. He sat with his head bowed between his shoulders in sad defeat.

"Not playing a game with you. Just want to see if you remember…"

"Remember what?" His cheek pressed against the deceased bricks and his eyes stared at the tiny beam of mustard colored light streaming from the prison door.

"Remember how it used to be? Before the invasion. Before they came and took over. They ran the entire roster out of the locker room. But before them, we were dominant. We were winning the ratings war. We had the best athletes and valets. The best shows, the best storylines, and promos. But you have to remember yourself and who you once were."

"I remember who I was and I'm still that same person."

"You aren't."

"Am too."

"Are not. If you were truly Stone Cold Steve Austin, then you wouldn't have allowed them to have so much power. You woulda kicked all their asses out of the arena the first time they invaded. It's time for you to remember…"

Stone Cold let himself become one with the silence from the other end. Something told him that he knew the faceless voice on the other side. Time to tell a story. Before he started, the deep flowing voice told him he would help if necessary.

"Well, my name is Stone Cold. Guess ya already know that. I remember wrestlin' in WCW and ECW. I had all these crazy gimmicks. I used t'be a Hollywood Blonde with long silky Edge and Christian hair. Around that time, I was a wannabe filmmaker and had to pretend I was rolling a camera. That bastard Ted Turner made me wear some crazy-ass hot pink, aqua blue, and bright green tights. It didn't fit me."

"No offense, but you really aren't the type to run out to the ring in floral tights either." The voice on the other side broke out in laughter.

"I know that. After a brief stint in WCW and ECW, Vince McMahon called me over." As a second thought, he added, "Oh, my hair was shoulder length and slightly curled when I was under Ted's wings."

"Awww, how cute." Stifled laughter.

"Don't rub it in."

"I'm sorry. How did that go? With Vince?"

"Well, he was cool at first, but it didn't last long. He seemed real fake and I got tired of dealin' with 'do this, do that'."

"So then what did you do?"

"I stunned the hell out of him. Damn bastard ain't gonna tell ol' Stone Cold Steve Austin how t'dress or give him a lesson on proper Corporate manners. Shoot, I put cow manure in his office and poured beer over it. The King and J.R. thought I was pissin' at the time, but it was my sanctified beer."

"That's the Stone Cold we needed. And how did you acquire the name 'Stone Cold Steve Austin?'"

"Steve Austin was already the name I went by. One day, my ex-wife said t'me when she made some coffee, 'better drink that coffee, before it gets stone cold.' From then on, I was 'Stone Cold Steve Austin.'"

"That's really cool."

"Thanks—I thought ya said ya knew everythin' about me."

"I do."

"Then it's time t'talk about you."

"Nope."

"What's your name, son?"

"It doesn't matter."

Stone Cold sat upright, his ice blue eyes wide and his back unglued from the wall he'd been leaning against. He shivered and slowly shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be….

"What did ya say?" he breathed.

"It doesn't matter." The voice sounded buried in depressed soils of hopelessness. As if aware that Stone Cold wanted more of a response, the faceless male voice continued, "My name doesn't matter."

"But who are you? Why won't ya tell me?" Stone Cold slowly rose to his full height and pressed his open palms on the humid walls. He wanted to scream in frustration, but he couldn't show his weakness. "Why can't ya tell me?"

"It's not important. Please continue with your story."

"Not until ya tell me who ya are."

"Just finish." The voice pleaded.

Stone Cold hated hearing the tear-welling note in his new companion's voice. He didn't know how to explain the new bond he had formed with someone he couldn't see and yet, he had the feeling he knew him from long ago before he was put in this horrid animalistic condition. To appease him, he would finish his story.

"I'll finish. Ya owe me somethin' after I'm done."

"What's that?"

"Ya have t'tell me what happened to the World Wrestling Federation."

A year of silence passed before he got his answer.

Stone Cold heard his new friend nod his head.

"Will do."

**oOo**

"How long will it be?" The weighty Paul Heyman squealed. He rubbed his greasy fat palms.

His eyes widened as he observed Stone Cold pounding the prison wall on a television monitor. Heyman shifted his attention to the other monitor, where a peanut-butter complexioned man lay huddled in the corner against the brick wall with his arms folded across his chest.

"Not too long. Steve has a high endurance, but he'll eventually have to give up," a Southern nasal voice drawled.

"Come here you nice piece of ass."

His black beady eyes sized up the lovely Debra and ripped her clothes off with a single carnivorous glance.

She bent down so that her breasts were at his eye level.

He reached over and turned the knob on the radio and the music scorched the room. T-Boz from TLC seductively sang in her low sly voice about taking time and making sexual prowess long lasting and smooth in the song "This is How It Works." Debra's hips twitched and he slapped his hands on her buttocks. He grabbed the silver chain draped around her hip-hugging black tights and pulled her towards him. She giggled and smacked his hand. He was undaunted as his hand slithered into her baby blue low cut blouse. His dirt-smudged fingers gripped her breasts and pinched her nipples as if he owned her.

"I love your firm stomach. So smooth. You're the perfect example of what every diva should look like in the World Extreme Championship Wrestling. Too bad I had to get rid of most of those dumb broads."

"Tsk-tsk," Debra said shaking her head.

"Stacey Kiebler and Torrie Wilson are still around. They're not doing so bad. I think we can keep them. What do you think?"

"Hmmm, nah." Debra shook her head. She planted herself on Heyman's lap and threw her arms around his neck.

"Lita had to go. Poor X-Treme diva took a wrong turn with that last move. It was just a twist of fate that her neck wound up in that nasty position. No love lost."

"Jackie and Ivory are not what Ah want. They can service themselves as new valets, though Ah do declare, that they'll be on the way out very soon. Trish is getting too smart. Ah think she'll be the next to go. Stupid bitch."

"I like Trish," Paul said dreamily. "Nice booty. She can stay."

"And Molly?"

"Hell no to Molly Holly. I gave her an ultimatum. Either get liposuction on her stomach and smack in new implants in her tiny chest, or else she'd be out of a job."

"And she didn't go along with it?" Debra asked disdainfully, glancing at her hot pink claws.

"Nope. So, someone had to pay. It wasn't hard getting Buh-Buh Ray and D-Von to dispose of that runt, Spike. Ya shoulda seen Molly's face when she found him on the sidewalk in a puddle of his own blood. She looked like she swallowed a puppy for breakfast."

"Just about everyone from WWF is gone," Debra grinned with pride.

"Pretty much. Wrestling business is damn sad with all the back-stabbing going on."

"I know, tell me about it."

Rhyno, RVD, Booker T, Hardcore Holly, Steven Richards, and Tazz came rushing through the door. Paul Heyman looked at them and turned back to the monitors as he groped the lovely woman sitting on his lap.

"Very soon we will get him out. He is the second to last one," Booker T said with a dark sadistic note. A sparkling glint in his eyes reflected the peanut-butter complexioned man on the monitor.

"Save the best for last, huh?" Paul Heyman nodded his head in approval. "They were the two main attractions so it's only fitting that they be the last to go."

"The last one will be baldy. Then the transformation of WECW is complete," Tazz said. "No more friggin' WWF."

"Thank God for that. Mr. Pay-Per-View won't have to deal with the likes of Jeff Hardy. The stupid teeny-bopper can't figure out what color he wants his hair to be," RVD smirked.

"What about Angle?"

The traitorous Hardcore Holly held up blood stained gold medals for everyone to see. He spat foamy saliva on the sparkling gold and threw them on the floor.

Paul whispered in Debra's ear and the Southern belle stood up.

He turned to Rhyno.

"Get the chamber ready. The most electrifying man in sports entertainment is going to feel the electricity in his veins tonight."

Rhyno nodded his head and cracked his knuckles.

"I got rid of Why-Too-Jay. He's two thousand leagues beneath the sea. Gored him right over the damn Brooklyn Bridge."

Rhyno's damp stringy black hair hung over his face and the corners of his lips gave evidence to a cruel proud sneer for eliminating the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla; Chris Jericho.

The men watched as Debra glided around the room. Their eyes were entranced by the twitch-twitch of her hips.

"So now Ah got to get rid of you. Stone Cold Steve Austin, my darrrrling husband," the slim hourglass figured blonde woman walked over to the screens that monitored the men's every action. Her frozen blue eyes pierced the screen, trying to fatally stab the bald Texan. Her blood froze upon the sight of him and her smile revealed glistening pearly white teeth.

"Give up the ghost, Steve."

**oOo**

"Vince hated my guts. I fought against his precious Corporate Champion, The Rock. Granted I didn't like Rocky, but I had t'respect that man. He had a lot of heart always gave his all when we fought in the ring. He was the only man to kick out of my finishing move. Ya could literally fly on the wind when fightin' him. The man just hated givin' up."

"He sounds like an amazing opponent."

"He truly was and still is…I think." Stone Cold leaned against the wall and sighed.

"What happened to him?"

"I don't want t'talk about it." Guilt choked the Texan. "I—Vince had suspended him. I upped and joined Vince. I can't explain why. Triple H and I beat The Rock bloody senseless the same night he got suspended."

There was no response from the other side. Stone Cold grew worried and knocked on the moldy bricks.

"Hello? Are ya still there?"

"Yes." The voice sounded constrained.

"Did I say anything wrong?" Stone Cold asked.

"No. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how conflicted you are."

"I'm not conflicted."

"Yes, you are. First, you said you hated Vince. Then you joined him. Pretty damn conflicted, if you ask me. Or confused. Take your pick."

"I didn't join up with Vince till later on. I still have t'get t'that part."

"Take your time."

Stone Cold pulled back when he heard the iciness coming from the other side. They didn't exchange words for a while. Finally, the voice resumed its pleasant warm note.

"Anything else?"

"Want me t'summarize?"

"Sure, if you want to."

"Vince and I still bumped heads an' I got t'beat the hell out of him. Eventually, we stopped warrin' because the Undertaker kidnapped his daughter, but that was just one hella huge scheme to do ol' Stone Cold in. I still fought off Vince and his son, Shane. I got into it with Triple H."

"Hunter?" He sounded as if he were shaking his head in disgust.

"Yes."

"And then what happened?"

"Piss poor fool had Rock's cousin, Rikishi, hit me during a pay-per-view. Triple H lured me to the parking lot. Next thing, I'm flyin' through the air and land on concrete with blackness invitin' me. I never even knew what hit me."

"I remember that."

"Ya do?"

"Yes an' I can recall you stunning every sonuvabitch in the locker room for weeks trying to find out who did it to you."

"Damn straight, for a long time I thought Rocky did it, but that was just Rikishi's and Triple H's game."

"So afterwards?"

"After that I was in a bed for months. I couldn't move a limb and my neck was killing me. But Debra, she nursed me back to health—I don't know what I woulda done without my beautiful Debra."

"You mean that stank bitch."

Stone Cold's punched the wall and hoped the man on the other side felt his rage.

"Don't ya dare call my Debbie a stank bitch!"

"Love makes you blind. Like it or not, your wonderful Debra is a stank bitch. She's the reason you're in here—and why I'm here too."

"Damn you." Stone Cold muttered under his breath about ripping up the other man and tearing him limb from limb.

"To hell with you too."

"I didn't say that. Ya must be dumb and deaf from sittin' behind these moldy walls for so long."

"Shut up."

"Why? Aren't ya the one who was yankin' my teeth t'get me t'talk?"

"Just shut up."

Stone Cold got on his feet and kicked the wall. He listened carefully and heard a muffled punch from the other side. He listened again and heard knuckles pound the wall several times.

"I friggin' hate it here. You make it ten times worse," the voice snarled with intense hatred.

"I'm hella tired of hearin' ya bitch and moan."

"She's got you pussy-whipped. Don't take it out on me."

Stone Cold's mouth opened to hurl another insult. He wanted to spit lava drops to melt the wall, so that he could reach in and beat up the other man.

"Go on, what did she do for you? Did she go out of her way and cook her nasty cookies for your culinary delight? I'd love to hear this." The voice had taken on a cruel arrogant note that sounded as if he owned the universe and had all the answers.

"Hell no."

"Suit yourself."

"Ya know somethin'? I've been up here talkin' all this time about myself. Why don't you say somethin' about yourself for once?"

Silence from the other side and Stone Cold could barely hear rushed breathing. Finally, the voice responded.

"There is nothing to say except that it's a damn shame you don't know the truth."

"The truth this and the truth that. Ya said ya would tell me about what happened t'the World Wrestlin' Federation. If ya know so much truth, then spill it out!" Stone Cold challenged.

"I'll tell you some truth then. ECW and WCW have taken over. There is no more WWF. End of story."

"Ya said that in the beginning. I want details."

"You were there and you saw what happened. Why the hell did you go along with them? Once the WWF lost you, we were done for."

"Why the hell does the WWF depend only on me? What kind of garbage is that? An' here ya are accusin' me—where were you when WWF was invaded?"

"You were the main draw and attraction. Once they got you it was over."

"And you? Ya keep revertin' it back t'me, but refuse t'say anything about you and the role you played." Stone Cold was getting more frustrated by the second and his head pounded mercilessly.

"I was suspended for four months because you decided to kiss Vince's ass. And then he got rid of some good people like Lawler, Kat, Earl Hebner, Chyna, Grandmaster Sexay, among others."

Stone Cold's throat suddenly dried up and he needed a drink of water. Never mind beer. Slowly the picture was starting to make sense. A lone pit dropped into his stomach and expanded poisonously when he realized he knew whom the voice on the other side belonged to.

It wasn't him. It couldn't be.

He wasn't the type to be subdued or imprisoned against his will. Stone Cold knew him too well and the shock of who was on the other side further silenced him.

Everything about him was different; he never spoke in the first person and he usually carried himself with high prestige as if were better than everyone else. Stone Cold thought back to how their conversation started and noted how the voice was very mellow, calm, and quiet. The Texan was used to the abrasive and loudness of his fellow prisoner's voice, but now all trace of confidence and self-assurance had seemed to wear off and disappear. What had happened to him? And what happened to the other wrestlers in the federation? Stone Cold knew that his cellmate had the answers. It was time to get to the bottom of their situation, and he had a grave feeling that he wouldn't leave alive. He pressed his ear against the wall and pictured the other man sitting with his arms folded across his chest.

"Rocky?"

"Yes?" The emotional pain and anger had left his voice.

"…I…"

Stone Cold bowed his head and he could faintly hear The Rock moving around in his cell.

"I will tell you everything. Unless you want to start off with who is left of us and who joined them."

"Us as in the WWF?"

"Uh-huh and them as in ECWCW. Now they call it World Extreme Championship Wrestling. It's like a combo of the original ECW name and the WCW one."

"Who's left of us?" Austin now let his arms droop around his body and felt the material he was wearing. In the dim yellow light, he could make out a black sleeve with buttons. He was dressed in prison garb. He unbuttoned the collar and rolled his neck on his shoulders.

"There are not many of us around anymore. I don't know where to start…" his voice trailed into oblivion.

"I have a good idea of how they took over an' I guess Debra had a huge role in it."

"She did. No hard feelings about what I said earlier."

"None at all. How's about I name names an' ya tell me what happened to them?"

"That sounds fine."

Stone Cold sighed and wondered whom he should start with.

"Vince McMahon."

A name that he had once loathed with intense passion now seemed so harmless.

"One day, Linda came and found him huddled over his desk. He was gone. The night before we had done a television taping in the Madison Square Garden where the entire WWF roster defeated the ECWCW roster. My suspension had been lifted by then, so I was cleared to fight in the ring. Vince had flown back to Stamford that night with Paul Heyman. The next morning Vince was found dead. No blood or anything, just slouched over his desk as if he had fallen asleep doing paperwork."

"I bet that bastard Heyman killed him just so he could get control of the WWF."

"All of us WWF guys said that in the back. Especially the next day when Heyman went around saying that Vince had spoken to him about being in charge of the WWF should anything happen to him. It was too suspicious. And you were already with Heyman's group."

"Yeah, I remember that now. How long ago was this with Vince? I think I had taken a week off with Debra."

"Only a month."

"Damn it, I should've stayed on Vince's side when the invasion started happening. He had asked for my assistance..." Stone Cold's voice trailed off. Maybe The Rock was right before: Stone Cold was confused and didn't know where his loyalties lay.

"Can't cry over spilled beer," The Rock attempted to be funny and it brought a smile to Austin's face in the cloaking darkness. "Well, Linda left after that. She was never seen or heard from again."

"What about Shane and Stephanie?" Stone Cold asked.

"They were the first to go. And you know why?"

"They're the inheritors of the WWF. So I guess it makes sense that Heyman would off them. I thought he was workin' with them, but he backstabbed them."

"He did way more than backstab them," The Rock said quietly.

"What about Triple H?"

"During those times when WWF was trying to fend for itself, Triple H and I were finally able to see eye to eye."

"Now that's historical. Ya two never liked each other."

"I know, but this time we put our hatred aside to work together for the whole of WWF. He's a real leader, I gotta hand it to him. One night they busted in on our planning against them. It happened so quickly. First Hunter and I were plotting out strategy and the next minute I hear ten glass windows shatter into pieces. We were going to take them on. Triple H shouted for me to leave. I said no and his eyes glowed. He said 'get out now Rock or I'll kill you with my bare hands—get the hell out—NOW.' I ran away that night and never looked back. I hate myself for it. I can still hear Triple H's screams ringing in my ears."

"Who crashed your plans?"

"Sean O'Haire, Chuck Palumbo, Steven Richards, Lance Storm, Hurricane Helms, and Tajiri. They used his sledgehammer on him. I don't think he ever saw it coming."

"I thought Tajiri was cool with WWF and helping out Regal."

"Tajiri turned on him and Regal ran away. Many wrestlers ran away like Crash Holly, Kaientai, Christian, Mick Foley, Scotty 2 Hotty, Lillian Garcia, J.R., Coach, the referees, and Goodfather. Matt Hardy left Jeff and Lita behind. I don't hate them for it and I understand their fear. The WWF was no longer a family; we were warring against each other when many of the wrestlers turned traitor."

"Who betrayed us?" Stone Cold asked with excitement.

"You did."

"Please don't remind me."

"…Okay. Billy Gunn and Big Show went to the Alliance. Steven Richards, Albert, X-Pac, and D-Lo joined them too. Chris Kanyon actually tried to leave the Alliance and help out WWF wrestlers and Heyman wouldn't stand for it. So there is no more Kanyon."

"I never liked the damn fool anyway."

"Diamond Dallas Page kidnapped Sara and pushed the Undertaker out of a window from what I heard last. Hardcore betrayed his cousin and I think that's why Crash took off. Molly…she found Spike dead. That was a horrible day when that happened. My heart… truly… went out for her. I remember… her getting up… slowly and she had the most… frightening expression…on her face. Her eyes were in the…back of her skull and… she saw right through me. Kinda crazy… sad… loony. I gave her… a huge hug… that day. She pushed me away… and ran down the street…I haven't seen her since."

Stone Cold pressed his hands on his face and he never wanted to leave his cell for the fear that he would go insane. He heard tears choking The Rock's voice and he felt his own eyes brim with tears. He tried blinking them away, but it was useless as the tears slowly trickled down his face.

"Angle was tortured to death. Edge fought to the bitter end, God bless him. They lit Kane on fire after ripping his mask off. Chris Benoit took down Perry Saturn because he turned on the WWF and Terri Runnels. Benoit crippled Dean Malenko and saved Eddie Guerrero from Justin Credible's vicious attack. I think Benoit was the last one to go down. Him and Steve Blackman really fought it out to the end. I give them so much respect and love. Terri tried to fight off Debra, but she wound up in the hospital. Most of the divas are gone or Heyman captured them for his own perverted pleasures. The Alliance is no longer the Alliance. They are the World Extreme Championship Wrestling and they literally killed off their competition. Namely us."

The Rock stopped to catch his breath on the other side and Austin heard him wiping his tears away.

"Why did Debra do this…I loved her…I trusted her," The tough Texan lost all his composure and sobbed quietly.

"What happened to the Stone Cold I used to know? DTA…Don't trust anybody."

"I don't know." Austin fumbled with his words and The Rock didn't press the issue.

"Debra—she just joined them and turned her back on WWF or what was left of us. She arranged to have you brought here. I know you know about it."

"She didn't."

"She did."

Stone Cold bit his lip. His throat felt like he had swallowed glue.

"We went for a walk t'get away from all the chaos. Planned on leavin' for good and retirin' on a ranch in the heart of Texas where I could live comfortably on the earnings I made in the WWF."

"Go on," The Rock murmured.

"Well, she…" Stone Cold shook his head trying to erase the memory from his mind, but the more he resisted, the harder the scene forcibly flashed itself before his eyes until he could see it as vividly like a movie on a wide screen.

**oOo**

Stone Cold drove his truck and parked it across the street from the Titan Towers. Debra skipped out the car. He let himself out and slammed the car door shut. She whizzed by, grabbed his hand in hers, and kissed it gently. His blue eyes met hers and his heart thumped passionately when engulfed by his love for her. They slowly walked to the ruins of the Titan Towers.

"Debra, why ya take me out here for?"

"Ssshhh! You'll see. Ah know you will love it."

"Lookit this place. It looks hella wrecked an' in shambles. I want t'go to the quickest bar and have some Coors beer."

"You an' your blasted beer. It won't be long, Steve."

She pulled his hand and he walked up behind her.

They entered through the broken gates and then stared up at the twin buildings. Huge jagged shards of glass remained as shattered gravestones of the once magnificent windows. The once proud and triumphantly waving flag that showcased the ruby red and silvery white logo of the World Wrestling Federation was torn to humbled shreds. The beaten and battered fabric pieces were strewn about the flagpole. Instead, another flag had replaced it. Austin squinted upwards and barely made out the initials ECW on one side and WCW on the other side of the flag. Creepy crawlers raced up and down his spine when Debra turned to him with a huge plastic smile painted on her face as she stepped through the battered revolving doors. She motioned with her open palm as The Rock used to and mouthed the words: just bring it. He stepped over the thrown up glass and plastic and tried to ignore the spray painted vandalism that assaulted the former classy buildings.

"Steve!"

He looked up and saw her skipping away down a dark hallway. He ran to catch up with her, but the gloominess settled around him and he realized he had lost his wife. He saw a fork and went in the left direction. He encountered more darkness and nearly tripped over a shattered portrait. He opened his eyes as wide as he could and blackness invaded his vision. He blinked and shook his head, determined to find his wife.

"Debra! Debra, girl where did ya go?"

Stone Cold rushed around the towers trying not to trip over debris of overturned chairs and smashed wooden tables where the Dudley Boyz had left their mark. Finally, he turned and saw a dim yellow light and ran in that direction.

"Debra! Baby, you an' I are hightailin' it outta here. Debr—"

He stopped as if he had seen a ghost and his jaw unhinged itself. His frosted blue eyes jumped from Debra to the man her arms were encircling to Debra again. There was no way what he saw was virtual reality. He convinced himself that the sight before his very eyes was a mirage at best and that he was very beer-deprived. Debra and the fat man with black hair took a step towards him. Stone Cold stood in place watching them. His heart ripped itself free from his chest and he couldn't move a muscle. Finally, her other man began to talk in a voice that sounded as if he were trying to cough up a live turkey.

"Austin! How nice of you to join us and as you can see, I have your lovely Debra by my side. Surprised?"

"You are one dead bastard."

"Ha! I don't think so buddy."

Paul Heyman snapped his fingers and pointed at Stone Cold. Members of the Alliance crept out from under and behind the shadows. They surrounded Austin and held up chains and steel chairs, ready to beat him senseless.

"Now Aust—" Paul started.

Before he got his full thought out into the air, Stone Cold rushed at him with his arms outstretched and pushed him down to the ground. He slammed his clenched fists into Paul's face until he saw red blood spurt from the ECW promoter. Confident with his attack, Stone Cold wasted no time in leaping off Paul Heyman and charged at the Alliance, who had once esteemed him. He kicked Sean O'Haire in the stomach, grabbed his neck, and jumped into the air with his legs outstretched. He landed with a loud bump and leapt back on his feet. Sean O'Haire lay outstretched with his hand on his neck. Stone Cold immediately stunned Mecca, RVD, Chuck Palumbo, DDP, and Jerry Lynch in a row and they all cluttered to the floor like dominos.

"Oh hell yeah, ain't no one gonna take down Stone Cold Steve Austin. Bring out what ya got, 'cause it ain't happenin' t'night."

He turned around and a wave of men came rushing in his face almost more than he could take on. He stunned Mike Awesome and even gored Rhyno into a wall. Finally, he stumbled to Debra. She stood with her hands glued to her hips; her face glimmered with disappointment at seeing Stone Cold still on his feet. He did not see this because his heart was still intact for her.

He opened his mouth to ask:

"Why?"

In the next instant, Tommy Dreamer, Tazz, Booker T and Lance Storm surrounded Stone Cold on all four sides and smashed him with steel chairs at the same time.

His ice blue eyes rolled into their sockets to find out about the party in the back of his head. Sticky saliva dribbled from his parted lips and spilled onto his hay brown goatee. His head felt like it exploded off his shoulders. He sank into a black meaningless oblivion, darker than the midnight skies and further than the nearest galaxy. His body slumped to the ground with his arms outstretched and his open palms slapped loudly.

Even though he couldn't see his attackers, he felt them. Their meaty hands snatched his legs up, snaked around his neck, constricting his breathing and they twisted rope around his wrists. Debra drove her sharp stiletto heel's wielded point into his back and he squirmed feeling it tear his skin. He was picked up and thrown around like a sack of grain.

Fluttering open, his left eye picked up one lone vision that would remain in his memory, although his heart and mind would try their best to block it. The vision of his beautiful wife Debra, her arms around Paul's neck, her lips smacked on his, sucking and kissing with a hot fever that she never bestowed on Stone Cold, and her hands sliding between Paul Heyman's legs. The ECW owner's grubby paws pulled her silky blonde hair while shouting silently that not only did he own Debra, but that he ruled ECW and WCW, and that the WWF was a dead dream that was fading faster than Austin's blurry vision as he allowed himself to slip into evil unconsciousness.

**oOo**

"So now ya know the truth. Are ya happy now?" Stone Cold asked and he wiped an escaped tear.

"I knew the truth. The minute I heard your body tossed into the room next to me. I had hope that maybe somehow there was someone still alive from WWF. Or at least somebody whom I could escape with," The Rock whispered. "I knew they had finally gotten you. And when you said your name aloud…you have no idea what came into my mind…."

He broke off abruptly and Austin could hear the tears from the other wrestler.

"I don't care if I never speak on a microphone or wrestle again," he continued. "Just to be out of this prison. To breath in fresh air and eat real food. To see people again. To find out if anybody else from WWF is still around even if they are hiding…."

Stone Cold bit his lip and tasted his blood as he listened to The Rock murmur about a freedom that he knew would never come to them.

"I feel you. I really do," Stone Cold nodded his head and pressed his ear against the wall again, not caring about the wet mildew and stickiness. He waited to see if The Rock would respond to him and heard sniffles and then silence. "I loved her."

"I know you love her still. She nursed you back to health when no one else would help you."

Stone Cold shook his head. "I loved her. Loved. I have no more love for her. Not after this."

"She will always be yours."

"I don't know why she did this."

"Some questions we will never find answers to. Sometimes it's better that way."

"I guess so, even though for the life of me, I can't understand what Paul Heyman has that I don't have."

"A nasty nasal voice and a 'gore' speech impediment that needs to be choked out of his system. You can go crazy listening to him all the time. I don't think you want that." The Rock laughed at his retort and he felt better when he heard Austin chuckle along with him.

"What part of the Titan Towers are we in?" Austin asked bewildered.

"In the basement. I think sub-basement where it's hardly taken care of."

"How did they get you?"

"Samoan pride got me down here," The Rock laughed dryly.

"Samoan pride?" Stone Cold asked and it took another second before it clicked in his mind. "Rikishi."

"Yep, that fat-ass did it. There is no love lost between us—not after him using my car and then saying I told him to run you down. I don't give a hell about him."

"Did ya tell him this?"

"Yes, I sure did."

"Can ya tell me about it?"

"Sure, why not. Time for The Rock to share his wonderful news."

**oOo**

The Rock dodged quickly and hid behind a car.

Steve Blackman, Chris Benoit, and Edge had gone into the Titan Towers and hadn't come back out. He looked over his shoulder quickly, on the red alert and listening very carefully for anybody walking behind him. Then he turned back and saw them:

RVD and Booker T pranced out of the destroyed Titan Towers with Steve Blackman's kendo stick. It was broken in half and the two wrestlers each held a piece. RVD, thumbs pointing in his direction, motioned to himself proudly and grinned like a wolf. Booker T shrugged and swung the stick in his direction. They played swords and smacked the wood together in a pretend fencing game. _Clatter, clatter._ Then they started whacking each other with the severed wood and The Rock could hear their coarse laughter. The two wrestlers tossed the sticks in the air and caught them.

"Keep laughing, you sons of bitches," he growled. "You're gonna pay."

"You aren't going to do a damn thing. I thought your sweet Mommy—my Aunt Ata—taught you not to use bad language."

The Rock turned around quickly and in the next second, his back smashed into the rear window of the car he was hiding behind. Jags of glass cut and pierced his skin. He felt a sticky trickle on his back and he coughed. His eyes opened slowly as if sand were stuck between them. The vision focused and honed in on the attacker with olive skin and dyed blonde hair.

"Son of a bitch," The Rock whispered.

"No respect—not even for your own family."

Rikishi Phatu, The Rock's cousin, shook his head and pursed his lips. His hand snaked out and his fingers clamped tightly on The Rock's neck. He squeezed and felt his cousin's pulse. He smiled when The Rock's arms flew to his throat, trying to pry off the menacing grip. Rikishi let go and his cousin slid off the car.

"What's it gonna be, cousin? Are you with us?" Rikishi asked.

The Rock was on all fours and spat on his fellow Samoan's sneakers. He looked up with a dangerous glassy glint in his eyes.

"Hell no. Traitor."

"Stupid boy." Rikishi slammed his foot in The Rock's solar plexus. He collapsed on the ground; his chest pumped desperately for air. Above him, he saw Rikishi motion with his hands. He heard voices belonging to RVD and Booker T.

"Let the bodies hit the floor!" RVD yelled.

"Well, well, it's little Rock. We finally got you," Booker T said circling him.

The Rock stood erect facing all three enemies. He took a step back and they stood in place watching him. Rikishi winked at him and shook his head as if to say: stupid boy is related to me. The Rock popped up his middle finger.

"Shove it up your fat dimply ass, cousin." The Rock grinned and backed off slowly. He walked backwards still facing them and wiped his hand across his forehead. He expected them to pursue him. They smiled eerily at him like lit pumpkins on Halloween. As if they knew he was walking into a trap. He kept walking until he felt another presence.

It happened in a mere split second.

Lance Storm, Tazz, Big Show—

The Rock never saw who the fourth person was. The chairs smashed his head and he felt like his skull crushed and crumbled inside his skin. He fell forward and tried to spray his arms in front of him to break the fall. There were shouts and screams, but they sounded very far away. He felt his body hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder. He was dimly aware of Rikishi's arm tightening around his legs to prevent him from kicking. His arms dangled like a rag doll, drool spilled over his chin, dust flew into his eyes and he left behind a trail of tears.

The fight in him wilted and died. The company he had once been a part of ceased to exist forever and a strange calm enveloped him, telling him that it would be over very soon.

**oOo**

"I got the same four men steel chair thing too. My head was ringing like hell hit it, but it stopped after several days."

"I can't believe Rikishi sided with them," Austin mumbled.

"I could believe it. He hates the WWF and despises me. I disowned him a long time ago."

"When did they do this to you?"

"Sometimes it seems like yesterday that they tossed me in here and other times it seems like years ago. It all depends on how I'm feeling."

"How do you feel now?"

"Sad that the WWF is gone and that I couldn't do anything about it."

"It's not your fault."

"I know. I also feel glad. Kinda giddy." The Rock laughed quietly.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess because it's almost over."

The Rock became quiet and Stone Cold heard him coughing.

"It seems like they used the same approach with you an' I," Stone Cold realized the commonality of their attacks.

"They are saving us last," The Rock murmured.

Stone Cold cocked his head confused and stared at the wall as if green slime droplets were falling from the ceiling and burning the floor he sat on.

"What did ya say, son?"

"They're savin' us for last," he said barely an octave louder.

"Rocky, speak up and quit your mumblin'. I can hardly hear ya." The Texan leaned his whole weight on the wall trying to make out The Rock's quiet words.

"I can't."

"Why can't ya—"

Stone Cold's words halted in mid-air when he heard it.

There was a stomping, an approaching set of footsteps that smashed into the floor with meaningful purpose, and the clackity-clack of high heels.

He crawled on his hands and knees and lay flat on the floor trying to peek and see who was coming towards them. Through the thin sliver of space between the bottom of the door and the floor, Stone Cold could make out black heels and soiled Nike sneakers. The heels slowly moved out of his vision and his blue eye twitched to see more. More pairs of sneakers and wrestling boots filled the space and he backed off.

A door slammed against a wall and he heard a rush of voices. The floor trembled under Stone Cold's body and he stood with his back melding into the wall, listening to snips of orders and conversations.

"—your lucky day, Rocky—"

"—special thing for you—"

"—get your candy-ass up—"

"—move it—"

Stone Cold listened more intently. He heard sneakers scuffling and a body slammed on the floor with a sickening loud thud followed by sadistic shark-like laughter. Then a door slammed again so deafeningly loud that he cringed from the force of the blow. He quickly looked under the door again. For a split second, he saw The Rock struggling to get to his feet. The wrestlers who pledged allegiance to the WECW kicked him down. The black heels entered the space again, he felt his heart tighten, and blood warmed his cold clammy body. He retreated deeper into his prison to escape the madness that was occurring outside. Crawling on his hands and knees, Stone Cold lay at the far end of his cell with his cheek kissing the cold wall. He tried not to think of what was happening to The Rock.

A key turned in the lock.

The mechanical sound of the lock clicking and giving way echoed in the damp cell. He closed his eyes. It was the most dreadful sound he had ever heard in his life and he wished The Rock were still in the room next to him. He couldn't see him when they had spoken to each other, but for a short time, the wall didn't exist between them and they had connected in a way that Stone Cold had never expected. It didn't matter now. Nothing did. The key squeaked and gurgled as the person on the outside of the door turned it.

The door swung open silently and a breeze of fresh cool air caressed Stone Cold's cheek.

He quickly raised his hand to block the bright light from his eyes that had grown accustomed to the blackness of his new home.

"Oh Steve, you are such a darling. Ah miss you, really Ah do."

He recognized the voice as belonging to his once loved and treasured wife, Debra.

"Steve, why are you hugging the wall like you have some bond to it? Get up honey or else you will miss the show that's about to take place."

His head swiveled on his shoulders and he turned to stare at her in disbelief.

"Show? What show?"

"You can witness the live execution of the most electrifying man in sports entertainment today. Free of charge. What do you say, Steve?"

Horror-filled, Stone Cold Steve Austin lost his ability to speak the English language. He swallowed and his tongue clicked noises in his throat. She stood in the doorway, the light shined around her. She appeared as a dark curvaceous shadow. She stepped through and he took in her blonde stream of hair, the crystal blue eyes, luscious pink lips, her hourglass body, and round firm hills. God, she was beautiful. She was beautiful and yet, he hated her. She was an angel and her devil horns held up her greasy halo. He hated the sight of her and wanted to yank her hair by the roots. He turned his face away. This didn't make her happy.

"Sean! Chuck! Be good men and bring my sweetie Stone Cold to Room 512. He has to see what's going to happen to dear Rocky and Ah would hate for him to miss it."

She whipped her blonde hair around her shoulders and watched as the two wrestlers invaded the room. He jumped up to fight them off, but they had come well prepared. O'Haire removed a small gun from his jeans pocket and pulled the trigger aiming at the Texan's arm. Stone Cold gasped when the needle embedded itself in his skin and he slumped against the wall like a spineless soul. He hit the ground face first and sparkly stars danced in his vision. Together, they yanked Austin off the floor and dragged him out of the cell; his feet skidded on the floor. He pushed them away and they raised and twisted his arms behind his back. His hands squirmed and he tried to scratch his new orderlies.

"Be cool, Austin," Chuck Pulambo warned him.

As they walked out the doorway, Debra kissed the disturbed Texan lightly on his nose and waved at him.

"You won't be there for too long. It will go quicker than you realize," her nasal voice carried through the hallway, infecting Stone Cold's ears as Sean O'Haire and Chuck Palumbo carried him. He turned around once to stare at the woman he had once loved. Debra's curvy figure faded and he watched longingly as she twitched away out of his vision.

He felt himself gliding through air and he looked up once to see the hallway spinning around him. Stone Cold thought he was the Sun and the WCW tag team as the Earth. They revolved around him and that is why they held onto him for dear life. They pulled him into a room where Rhyno and Tazz held an innocent looking straitjacket. Sean and Chuck held down Stone Cold. They criss-crossed his arms over his chest like a mummy embalmed for the afterlife. Rhyno tied the straitjacket around him. Tazz made sure the knots were perfectly in place and pulled them tight.

"Ready t'go, Aww-stin?" Tazz taunted with his deep Brooklyn accent and lightly tapped the Texan's cheek. "Take him t'Room 512."

"Where Rocky is. Too bad Rock won't leave that room alive," Sean O'Haire grinned.

They left the room and this time Tazz and Rhyno joined them. The fog lifted and completely cleared from his dim mind. Stone Cold tried to escape from his captors again.

"Let me go, ya pricks!"

"Shut up, you piece of WWF trash," Rhyno boxed him in the ear.

His ear screamed, fell off, and then became numb so that he couldn't hear the conversation between the ECW and WCW wrestlers. Stone Cold blanked out shortly and he felt himself being pushed along a frozen conveyor belt.

**oOo**

Stone Cold was in The Room now.

Room 512.

He tripped on his shoelaces on the way in. There were laughs from voices he recognized, but none of them he considered a friend. Everyone was his enemy now and there was never a time when he had any real friends. He had fooled himself into believing that Debra really loved him and that Heyman really had his best interest when he paid Stone Cold to join the Alliance. Now he was paying for it.

Now the entire World Wrestling Federation had paid for it.

With their dignity, respect, blood, sweat, and tears.

With their lives.

He hated The Room.

Everywhere scattered on the floor were reminders of the athletes he had worked with from the World Wrestling Federation.

Shane McMahon's mocking jersey's that read off as "X-Pac Sucks," "Crock," "I passed the Test," and "Shane-o Mac 6:32." (Stone Cold smiled at the last one that Shane had made; it was made in reference to Austin's famous 3:16 phrase: "Austin 3:16 says I just whipped your ass!") Triple H's famous sledgehammer. Kurt Angle's gold medals; the ribbons holding the gold ripped and speckled with his blood. Molly Holly's and Spike Dudley's dried flower bouquet. Steve Blackman's kendo stick lay wounded on the floor, splinters sticking out of the broken halves. Kane's red and black mask. The Undertaker's motorcycle lay on its side with one headlight dangling from the socket.

A royal purple sequined thong belonging to the once X-Treme Diva, Lita. Jeff Hardy's extensive ripped pantyhose gloves that he wore to every match. Trish Stratus' cowboy hat. Al Snow's beloved companion, Head. Mick Foley's Mankind mask and his two autobiographies, Have a Nice Day and Foley is Good. The books had been burned beyond recognition. Only the outside cover had remained intact. Kaientai's huge Japanese flag. Chris Jericho's glittery shirts. The APA's beer kegs. Jackie's cigar and wrestling boots.

Crash Holly's hardcore title belt that was torn apart and glued together. Edge's King of the Ring trophy and black trench coat. Christian's kazoo and exaggerated colorful sunglasses. Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley's small ECW cap and teddy bear. William Regal's dignified black suit and teacup. Chris Benoit's t-shirt showing a fractured bone. The Rock's elbow pad torn in half and his flashy silk shirts shredded.

The list went on and on.

Stone Cold saw a couple of beers cans reminding him of whom he once was: the beer-swilling, middle finger popping, outspoken and brash Texan who didn't take horse's crap from anybody. His silver leg braces were also scattered in the WWF memorabilia. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn't be reminded of his deceased colleagues and friends. But they were more than just friends and coworkers to him.

They were family.

Even though they fought each other in a squared circle for the entertainment of millions of fans around the world, deep down inside everyone had shown respect to one another. They traveled hundreds of miles on the road together, shared hotel expenses and bridge tolls, cried together when they lost a member of their wrestling family, laughed backstage at each other's promos, and gave support and love as they became family away from family. Of course, there were conflicts, as to be expected since they were around each other for two hundred days out of the year. Nevertheless, the wrestlers formed friendships, relationships, and even marriages. Intertwined and networked to each other, the men and women of the WWF had one another when they were thousands of miles away from home.

Stone Cold looked at the floor again seeing the items that were held dear to his ex-coworkers. Scenes and images flashed before his mind when his eyes centered on a t-shirt or mask for too long. He shook his head trying to avoid painful sweet memories, but they filtered in.

Shane McMahon bouncing around in the ring like a boxer and waving his fists around. Triple H marching down the ramp with his sledgehammer gripped in his taped hands. Kurt Angle falling to his knees on the wrestling canvas after winning a match and clapping his hands together while crying crocodile tears. Molly Holly and Spike Dudley walking hand in hand backstage, sharing secrets and kisses. Steve Blackman doing a sleek imitation of Michael Jackson's moonwalk and hitting people with his kendo stick. Kane standing in the middle of the ring with his arms raised and then pounding the air down. The turnbuckles would acknowledge his power by bursting with red bright flame for ten seconds, bathing the arena in a hellish glow. The Undertaker driving around the ring on his motorcycle to the contagious beats of Limp Bizkit's "Rollin'." He would race up the ramp and just before he left, he would salute the crowd, a raised clenched fist.

Lita jumping off of the top turnbuckle, her red hair riding the wind, her shapely legs wrapping around an opponent's neck and flipping them over in a single second. Jeff Hardy pointing the guns salute before making a courageous leap off a ten foot shaky ladder, his body flipping over backwards, his Skittles hair whipping in slow motion as he performed the awe-inspiring majestic Swanton Bomb. Trish Stratus parading down to the ring with her white sheer jacket airing behind her. Al Snow cradling his mannequin head in his arms and singing lullaby songs. Mick Foley announcing to thousands of screaming fans how happy he was in his hometown Long Island in the Nassau Coliseum and the pop rumblings that followed. Kaientai waving his Japanese flag proudly and christening the former tag team, Too Cool, as "Too Fool." Indeed. Chris Jericho walking down to the ring and commenting that Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley truly enjoyed his passionate kiss from last Monday's "Raw is War." Faarooq and Bradshaw chugging beers down behind a fake constructed wooden door and offering to protect anybody in the WWF for a set price. Jacqueline puffing on a cigar and sitting between Faarooq and Bradshaw in a game of poker.

Crash Holly barely escaping an attack of fifteen wrestlers when he put his Hardcore belt on the line twenty-four hours a day. Edge standing in the ring posing for five seconds for those with the benefit of flash photography and Christian by his side wearing a lime green sombrero large enough to cover his entire face. Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley's lips jutting outwards at disgust from what Chris Jericho claimed about their non-mutual kiss from the week before. William Regal sipping tea in his office accompanied by the English flag and his beloved portrait of the Queen of England. Chris Benoit giving Stone Cold ten German suplexes at one time, his endurance increasing with each suplex that followed. His back dipped and he fell to the mat, only to be up again with his arms still locked around Stone Cold's torso and he would perform another suplex in perfection. Finally, The Rock coming back to Madison Square Garden, New York, standing on the top ropes, his head swiveling slowly as he sniffed the air to smell what the fans were cooking. He would prance in the ring in his silk shirt glory as he spoke proudly in the third person, reminding everyone that he truly was the most electrifying man in sports entertainment.

The Rock, who had been suspended for four months when Stone Cold had joined Vince McMahon, now sat across from the bald Texan with tears glistening in his eyes. Stone Cold realized that the wall between them had truly masked what he thought The Rock looked like and how he had last remembered him.

The Rock had been the ultra popular pretty boy: a clean cut, comic book hero, a bronze Greek God Adonis. His black hair had always been shaven to a fine point in the back, his facial features carved and chiseled with care, the dark eyebrow always pointing upwards like a question mark, and his dark brown eyes sparkled with cocky confidence. The man that sat across from Stone Cold was a crumpled wraith of who he once was. The Rock's black hair was overgrown like rampant weeds and fluffed in all directions, tiny black stubble points had blossomed into a thin film of mustache, a premature beard lied about his young age, his eyebrow slouched lazily, and his neck wore the red welts of pain. His eyes were lifeless and had the appeal of a muddy swamp in the Everglades. His wrists, ankles, and torso were fastened to a metal chair with electrodes attached to the black heavy straps.

Stone Cold wished he were the one sitting stiffly in the chair and not The Rock. His eyes ached and he yearned to itch them. A lump thicker than a baseball formed in his throat. He felt like he had taste tested a Richard Bey concoction made from Coors beer, raw eggs, spicy red hot sauce, cow's liver, human toenails, and mint mouthwash. His tongue worked in his mouth and he felt the water waiting to be released in his eyes. Stone Cold let the tears flow down his cheeks when he read the intense fear across The Rock's face.

"I'm sorry…I'm…so…sorry."

His lips mouthed the words, but his voice didn't carry out the message. He tried to move his arms and break free from the itchy wool straitjacket, but the restraint didn't budge. Looking down, he could make out his arms bulging and resisting against the white heavy linen. He was itching everywhere. A fly landed on his leg and he automatically moved to swat it. Sean O'Haire caught him just as he fell.

"Quit moving."

Stone Cold didn't respond and he felt numbness in having his arms remain in the same position. He heard The Rock rasping for air and tried to avoid his dark eyes, but he couldn't escape the painful stare. There was no sparkle, only Black Death, and a cornered feeling in his eyes. For a moment, there was communication between them. There was shouting in the room, joking, laughter, and a feeling of inclusion among the WECW wrestlers and yet, they were in their own world sharing last words with each other.

_I'm not mad at you_ The Rock mouthed to him.

_I don't know what t'say. I'd get you out of that chair if I could_ Austin said with tears closing his throat.

_Don't say that, I'll be with the others soon. Jericho, Kurt, and all of them. _

_You're not going t'leave. I won't let you. We're gonna fight against them together. _

_What's done is done._

The Rock sat like a stiff straight poker. The metal bars on the back of the chair wouldn't allow him easy comfort. He clenched his fists and let his legs go limp. He mouthed three last words to Stone Cold before allowing his fate to settle into his mind.

Just bring it.

"I will, Rocky. For the WWF, I will," Stone Cold announced bravely and he nodded his head eagerly. He felt a tad better when The Rock flashed his usual cocky grin showing off his natural pearls.

Stone Cold turned around and saw Trish Stratus sitting off to the side fingering her blonde hair. Her head drooped and her legs were folded. She wore a large shad gray sweatshirt over baggy black jeans. He could tell by her posture that she wasn't happy to be in the room. She looked up once and managed a weak smile for him and The Rock. Stone Cold turned to The Rock and then to Trish Stratus. She stared at the ground. He wondered what she felt about being in the WECW.

More wrestlers trickled into the room and stopped to stare at the man condemned in the chair. The Rock's neck vibrated as he stared past RVD and Stone Cold; his eyes focused on the wall.

"You're gonna fry tonight, Rock," RVD teased.

The other wrestlers heard what he said and joined in the mockery.

"He's gonna cook well done and then we will smell what The Rock is cookin'."

"Smellalala."

"Cousin, you've been on my mind," Rikishi sang the song "Sister" from the movie, The Color Purple, off key.

Suddenly, a hush passed over them as Paul Heyman strolled into the room with Debra. Her arm was linked in his. He put his hands up and pressed the air down.

"Settle down folks, we will begin in a few minutes."

He released Debra. She stepped in between the wrestlers who sat in a large circle around the main spectacle, The Rock. Stone Cold saw her coming near him and he wanted to get away from her, but he was only able to scoot over a few inches. He glanced at The Rock, who glared hotly at the blonde belle. She plopped down next to him and ran her smooth hand lightly over his bald head. He knew she teasing him.

"Awww, Steve, you used to love when Ah put my hand on your head. Don't be afraid— it's just me, li'l ol' Debra."

"Don't touch me bitch," he growled and pulled away from her hand that burned him.

"You are having an attitude? Don't worry. Paul will remedy that soon. An' then you won't ever have to concern yourself with this 'bitch' again."

She withdrew her hand and sat with her arms folded in front of her. He didn't feel sorry that he had snapped at her; in fact, it felt good to pour the black tar of his rage all over her. He wished he had feathers to make the job complete. Stone Cold looked up and saw Paul Heyman marching around the room. He kicked the WWF items away from him as if to touch Kane's mask would contaminate his pure ECW blood. The alliance of wrestlers from WCW and ECW grew silent as they watched him creep to the center of the room. Paul Heyman, the fat egotistical man who had taken extreme measures in ending their powerful WWF competition, entranced them and captured their total attention.

"What we have here," he announced with the chicken still stuck in his throat, "is an amazing spectacle. A man who thought he could win the war even though he had lost all the battles for his company."

He stood behind The Rock's chair and pointed downwards.

"Not a very smart thing especially when you are warring against extreme wrestlers. You see, unlike Rocky, RVD can really wrestle. Tazz can really hurt you and break your back. But that's just a flavor of what ECW wrestlers can do to WWF so-called wrestlers, who are nothing more than over-inflated men who couldn't bitchslap a dog if their life depended on it. They were winning the ratings war for the last few years. Go figure!"

"Rock's got like three moves," RVD snorted. "Kick, punch, and bitch slap. Fans go crazy over his stupid lame-ass catchphrases. Can you smell what Rob Van Dam is cookin'? Shoot, we will smell what The Rock is cookin' tonight after he gets charred up."

The triumphant Alliance cheered in reply and agreement.

Stone Cold stared at the ground while still trying to break free of the straitjacket. He glanced up and saw The Rock's head bowed down in premature defeat. He grew restless and swung his legs to stall what was going to happen soon.

"Sit still," Debra hissed in his ear.

Stone Cold continued to swing his legs up and down to annoy her.

Paul Heyman ignored the petty fight between Debra and Austin and continued to preach to his pagans.

"I think I want to tell a story. Are you guys in the mood for a story?"

"Yeah, preach it Heyman!" Sean O'Haire yelled from across the room.

"Okay, then listen carefully so that you don't miss a single detail."

Paul made a dramatic pause, his beady eyes scrolling the entire room to pick out anybody who wasn't listening. Good.

"Once upon a time, there were three major dominant wrestling federations. First, the WWF— World Wrestling Federation."

"Booo!" The whole room sang a chorus of distaste for the federation they had taken over. Even X-Pac and Big Show, two wrestlers who had left WCW to work for WWF, hissed at the deceased company.

"WCW—World Championship Wrestling."

"That's right, more power to WCW!" Booker T shouted.

"And then there was my baby, my federation. ECW—Extreme Championship Wrestling."

"What! WHAT! Big props to Extreme!" The ECW wrestlers roared and cheered. They chanted the famous ECW cheer their fans had given them. "EEE-SEE- DUBAYOU! EEE-SEE-DUBAYOU! EEE-SEE-DUBAYOU!"

"Guys, let me finish the story," Paul Heyman appealed to the group. "So anyway, WWF is outselling WCW and ECW because of storylines, T&A, beer drinking bastards named Stone Cold Steve Austin," he leaned in the Texan's direction with a wide smirk across his face. "And morons talking in the third person, if ya smell what The Heyman is cookin'," he grabbed The Rock's overgrown fluffy hair and yanked his head up.

"I smell ya!" Rhyno shouted and Lance Storm nodded.

"Well, one day WCW sucks. One day becomes one week. One week turns into one month and so on. You get the picture. Vince is a smart businessman and I do give him that to a certain extent. He buys WCW from Turner and whoever. Now he owns WCW and it's all his. Cool, right? Wrong. He goes and slices his money pie and lets his son, Shane-o Mac take a slice and entrusts him to care for WCW. Are you following along?"

"Yes!" The wrestlers answered their teacher in one melodic voice.

"WWF now owns WCW, against ECW. Once again, Vince is a savvy businessman. He can't deny that he's in this business for the money, fame, and glory. So, he decides to hire me along. I figure that's when I'll make my move. Let some ECW wrestlers in. They could mingle with the WCW athletes and start slow until the crowd buys their product. What does Vince do? He screws me over big time. Him and his little bratty kids screw my wrestlers and I over. What do they do? They play the little eighties game of good versus bad. Heavenly saints, namely WWF goodies, versus hellish devils also known as the WCW and ECW recruits."

Paul Heyman pressed his hands together like a pious priest when he mentioned "heavenly saints." He continued to pace back and forth around the room and paused at certain moments with a slick grin pasted on his face.

"It was time for a change. A grave change. And change is good."

He stopped and looked every wrestler in the eye. His eyes narrowed to shark slits and he finished his story.

"Vince had to go. Take down the leader and the rest will fall. That's how it happened. Vince should know to DTA. Don't trust anybody. Poisoning his coffee was a synch. No one ever stopped to think about it. They just figured he died of a heart attack because the pressures of managing three feds in one got to him. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I guess I could tick off my fingers how many people we got rid of like Shane and Stephanie McMahon. But it would be a waste of time, so why bother?"

Stone Cold glared at Heyman as the chunky man made his way towards him.

"I guess you know about everything, huh Austin? Little Rocky informed you of all the grizzly details."

Stone Cold didn't say anything. He glanced at The Rock, who appeared to be taking his last breath every second.

"There must be one thing plaguing your mind, Mr. Texas Rattlesnake," Heyman goaded. "How in the world did nasty Paul ever get his naughty paws on the lovely Debra?"

Debra smiled and placed her hand over her chest in false modesty. She stood up and clutched Paul's open palm and stood up to be next to him.

"Ya can keep the bitch. I want nothin' t'do with her," Stone Cold grinned like a madman. The corners of his lips stretched far apart and his blue eyes were liquid glass.

"Thank you Steve, for relieving me of my wifely duties to you. Ah guess Ah can thank that blonde bimbo—Trish Stratus." She shoved Trish's head.

Trish Stratus sat in solitary silence not cheering or booing during Heyman's speech. She remained loyal to the WWF and virtually had no say in anything as Billy Gunn and the Big Show had captured her on Heyman's orders.

"Look who's talking about being a blonde bimbo. Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Trish snapped and slowly rose from her seat.

Debra swung her wide-open palm and slapped the air out of Trish's lungs.

Trish wiped the indignant tears from her hazel eyes. She leapt off her chair to choke Debra. Her fingers closed around the other woman's neck. Debra's hands flung to her throat trying to remove Trish's iron vise grip. She dug her fingernails hoping to puncture Debra's nasal vocal cords. Immediately, Torrie Wilson, Ivory, and Stacey Kiebler ripped Trish off Debra, who stood back trying to catch her breath. Torrie and Stacey grabbed each of Trish's arms and Ivory pulled her hair.

"Dispose that cheap trash right now!" Debra demanded with her hand clasping her throat and her eyes wide open like an almost drowned cat.

The WECW women pulled a fighting Trish out of the room and the wrestlers could hear her screaming and shouting. Finally, there was one loud mournful wail and then complete silence. Ivory, Stacey, and Torrie pranced back into the room without a single hair strand out of place or a broken nail. Stacey wiped her hands together.

"She is disposed and no longer a threat," Ivory said, smiling.

"Good," Debra patted down her blonde hair. "Now as Ah was saying, yes Trish was your downfall. Did she cook better cookies than me?"

"That's petty, Deb. I never thought ya would stoop that low," Stone Cold said.

Debra dropped to her knees quickly and rammed a clenched fist between her ex-husband's legs. He writhed in pain and she stood back with a slick smirk on her face.

"Yes, Steve. Ah can stoop that low."

She sank into the welcoming arms of Paul Heyman.

"Treat her like a lady, Steve. That's all you had to do. Treat her like a lady." Paul tsk-tsked at the bent over Texan.

"I treated her like a lady, but she's become a two-faced back-stabbin' bitch."

Debra struck a kick between his legs, her pointy stiletto heel connecting with his manhood. He cried out in pain and fidgeted his legs trying to kick the corrupt couple.

"Stop being so childish. Listen to you! Resorting to name-calling like a six-year old. I thought you were supposed to be 'Stone Cold Steve Austin'. Isn't that your name?" Heyman asked, giggling.

"Damn right it is an' your name is fat bastard."

"Very funny, Austin. I see you managed to preserve your sense of humor. And what about you, dear Rocky?"

Paul Heyman turned around and released Debra. He circled the chair that The Rock was fastened to and pulled the straps to make sure they were tight and sturdy.

"Right now, it's about you Rock. You had your chance to join the World Extreme Championship Wrestling. You blew it. You would rather remain loyal to the WWF then join up for a better cause. And you know what that means?"

He stopped and sneered at The Rock waiting for his answer. When he received none, he answered the question he had proposed.

"Treason, Rock. You're guilty of treason and of turning your back on WCW and ECW. If you had joined us, we would have spared your life. I guess it was hard for you, considering you were caught between a rock and a hard place."

Paul and the wrestlers laughed at his intentional pun on The Rock. The last two WWF crusaders found no amusement in the joke.

"Oh well, you can't make everyone laugh, but that's not the issue at stake here. The issue is we have a traitor on our hands. We have a symbol of what WWF is or has become. He can no longer be allowed to give sacred pro-wrestling a bad name."

Paul waited and heard the clatter of agreement around the room.

"No more talking in the third person. No more wasting thirty minutes of precious television time devoted to self-righteous arrogant so-called sports entertainers who brought their way into the pro-wrestling business by relying on past relatives. That's right, Rocky, I'm talking to you about your daddy, Rocky Johnson, and grand pappy, High Chief Peter Maivia. You used your past relatives to get your ass into the wrestling business. No more easy rides to get to the top of your game simply because your family headlined for the WWF— or any federation for that matter. No more boring promos about shoving objects up men's candy-asses and tired chats about your five hundred dollar Versace shirts. It has to end sooner or later. And it ends today."

He turned around and glared accusingly at The Rock. Stone Cold watched and opened his mouth to say something in his friend's defense, but The Rock shook his head. Stone Cold could not believe he was calmly accepting his fate. He would fight with every ounce of his feisty spirit, if he were in the chair strapped to his death. Then he remembered how much destruction The Rock had witnessed and he realized it had taken a lot out of him. Paul continued his tirade with his ear-irking voice growing higher to the point where even The Rock tried to raise his shoulders to block out his captor's tainted vocal cords.

"You ruined it, Rocky. Men like you, Austin, Triple H, Undertaker, Kurt Angle, Chris Jericho, Kane, and Benoit ruin it for my men. They put you over with the fans and give you all this time to swagger in the ring, while RVD can be putting on a quality match against Sean O'Haire or maybe even Tajiri versus X-Pac. I can go on and on all day about how your WWF brand killed my beloved ECW Company. You made me declare bankruptcy. Your blabbering about 'The Rock this' and 'The Rock that' put ECW to hell. I hate you. I've hated you since the day I saw your first appearance in the WWF as Rocky Maivia. I watched it at home. You debuted in the Madison Square Garden. Of all the arenas in this world that you disgrace with your disgusting presence, you choose to taint that one? You make me sick. Can I get an Amen?"

"AMEN!" The wrestlers screamed together.

"You talk too damn much in the ring. Why the hell didn't you run for the damn presidency? I wouldn't vote for your WWF scummy self anyway. I'm going to revolutionize the wrestling industry as Vince McMahon had done in the eighties. I'm going to change it again for the better. This time it will be a permanent change. Let's bring back the days when wrestling was about wrestling and not about who had the best looks, or who could raise the highest eyebrow, or who married the boss's daughter underneath his nose."

Paul Heyman finally took a deep breath from his long-winded speech and glanced at his watch. His chest heaved with regret, though if one were to search his heart, they would get lost in a never-ending maze of deception, greed, and pure consuming hatred that infected everything in its path. He glanced at Stone Cold, The Rock, Debra, and then motioned for the crowd of wrestlers to make room and clear space. His eyes glowed a malicious black silvery glint that Vince McMahon had seen the night of his murder.

"The time has come to put an end to all the shame and embarrassment. From now on, it will be about pure wrestling ability and remodeling the destroyed state of what professional wrestling has become with Vince McMahon's capitalist circus. We must purge ourselves from the World Wrestling Federation for good."

Paul's footsteps echoed in the cemetery quiet room.

"It's time to carry out the execution."

The temperature in the room dove below zero degrees. Paul saw Booker T gesturing at himself and he nodded at the former WCW Champion. Without further ado, he turned to Austin.

"You might want to watch this. We will find out how electrifying The Rock truly is. And then we will deal with you."

Paul's voice dimmed to a glimmering coldness and he slowly pivoted around to The Rock one last time.

"Any last words or requests that you have, speak them now or forever hold your peace."

All eyes were on The Rock, as he remained silent in his chair.

The cherished Peoples Champion took one last glance around the room ignoring the wrestlers who had come to witness his end. They stared at him with death dancing in their rabid eyes. He saw Rikishi watching him as if daring him to speak against him. The Rock swallowed nervously erasing the hurt he had felt when his own blood betrayed him. His eyes swam with tears when Stone Cold entered his vision, but he blinked them away. He nodded his head at the Texan and managed a weak smile.

Visions of him hugging Molly Holly flashed before his eyes. His arms encircled her small body, pulling her close to his chest, so that she would not be compelled to stare at her dead lover. He felt her tears soak through his shirt again and heard her screams of anguish. He saw himself placing a white sheet over Spike Dudley's little body. He recalled shaking hands with Triple H for the first time and the thrill he had felt knowing that his once worst enemy was now his treasured ally. He nodded his head when he remembered teaming up with Edge, Steve Blackman, and Chris Benoit to fight the war against the Alliance. The Rock felt bittersweet remorse for Kanyon. Chris Kanyon had visited him in his cramped cell and whispered in his ear that he would rescue him and that everything would turn out fine. The Rock's mind continued to backtrack and his eyes flew from the Undertaker's overturned motorcycle, to Kurt Angle's medals, Mick Foley's autobiography books, and then landed on Steve Blackman's dead kendo stick. He smiled faintly at Shane's jersey that read "The Crock."

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. His chest rose and fell quietly. He was as light as a feather. He didn't feel the straps cutting off his circulation or hear Paul Heyman's whiny voice demanding him to hurry up. For a moment, he felt he was floating above his death chair and looking down at himself. His fear slipped out of the pores of his body and confidence soared in to fill his empty essence. Breathe in; breathe out, slowly, slowly.

Between those last few seconds, The Rock made peace with himself and his Maker. A small brief prayer whispered from his lips. He did not make peace with Rikishi, but he was not worried about it. Rikishi would not be in Heaven and if he did sneak up there, The Rock already had plans to send him flying down to Hell. He had made peace with Stone Cold Steve Austin and that was the important thing. He was not furious at the Texan anymore and his polar icecap grudge melted into saltwater soul tears. All his cares drifted into the air. Breathe in; breathe out, slowly, slowly.

Finally, he was ready to declare his last three words.

"Just. Bring. It."

The Rock managed to turn his strapped wrist palm up and gestured closing and opening his hand mechanically. He smiled one last time and raised his famous eyebrow for all of the WECW to witness. The Texan nodded in mutual understanding and The Rock's dark eyes twinkled with never-ending self-confidence.

Stone Cold was about to witness an occasion that would forever destroy his sanity and mind. Unable to protest or speak on The Rock's behalf, he watched the deadliest events play out in ultra slow motion.

Debra put her hands on her hips. Paul's lips parted and moved, but Stone Cold didn't hear anything. Heyman barked out an order to Booker T. The ECW owner raised his tight fist. He threw down an invisible switch and nodded his head. Stone Cold saw Booker T's fingers close around the deadly switch. The Book's face gleamed as he pointed at The Rock sitting straight in his death chair. Paul's head shifted up and down like a puppet. A cheesy hyena grin plastered his face. The Rock sat determined and ready; his fingers slowly retracted into the palms of his hands, forming a quiet clenched fist. Stone Cold opened his mouth to warn him, but no sound came out, only gurgles and grunts. The Rock shrugged and cocked his head to the side. Booker T firmly brought the switch down and a low humming filled the room.

An unseen finger pressed tragedy's fast-forward button.

Snap. Crackle. nine hundred volts of electricity flew through the wires, arriving at their destination faster than the time it took for Booker T to throw the switch. The electricity sparked and fizzled. Corn kernels were popped violently in the air.

POP—POP—POP—POP

The Rock's back arched like a Halloween cat as his body resisted the deadly volts. His entire body jolted violently as if his inside organs rebelled and tried to explode outward. It was a wonder that his body didn't break through the straps and send him flying off the chair. The strap clamped on his left wrist snapped like a rubber band and his hand waved free. Kane's red flames licked and caressed The Rock's right arm. The other straps holding his wrist and ankles melted into his skin. Lightning bolts ripped and tore through him. The skin on his fingers and hands began to blacken like a well-done hamburger. Blue sparks danced around his legs igniting his black sweats. Blood poured from his eyes and nose and spilled onto his crinkled outfit. His chest heaved up and down like a helium balloon being inflated and deflated on and off. A crackling noise and his then chest collapsed. The stench of The Rock's burnt flesh permeated throughout the room and expanded like thunder. Some wrestlers rushed out of the room with hands protecting their noses.

A low moan pierced the room and then rose to an agonizing scream.

Stone Cold screamed and tried to block the horrific sight of The Rock being cooked alive before his very eyes. He heard another blood-curdling howl and he knew it was coming from The Rock. Stone Cold hollered and ran into a white room with cushioned walls. He kicked Tazz and RVD in their faces and they let him escape. His hands morphed into huge red claws enabling him to rip apart the straitjacket. He was free! The Alliance would never recapture him. He could rebuild the WWF starting with Rock and Vince. To hell with Paul Heyman and his crazy rantings—he sucked anyway. Stone Cold ran into the Himalayan Mountains and hit a dead end. He bashed his head against the straggled landform and slumped to the ground, still kicking and punching the WECW wrestlers as they closed in on him.

"That's good enough. Stop the electric flow."

Stone Cold zoomed back to the present. He struggled in his white straitjacket and swore in his mind that he was free just minutes ago. Booker T's fingers closed in on the switch and pulled it in the opposite direction. The low humming noise lowered to silence. More popcorn pops and purple sparks flew into the air. Stone Cold jumped and felt numerous hands holding him down and forcing him to look into the direction of the chair. He shook his head violently and tried to bite his attackers' hands. A hand slapped him in the face as he was made to sit up straight. Finally, he was able to see clearly again. The heavenly light dawned on him.

He stared at the burnt carcass not wanting to look, but felt compelled to gawk just as people driving on the highway feel the need to stop and stare at every car accident.

What remained of The Rock was nothing more than a burnt crispy slump of human mass. His head was thrown forward, his hair singed and burnt to the scalp. Flakes of burnt skin and fingernails were left over from where his right hand had gripped the chair. Blood flowed freely. His left hand and feet jerked the last volts of electricity that rushed through them. Stone Cold squinted and he could barely make out The Rock's clothes and even worse, the body under the clothes. Then he saw it: a chest movement. Very slight and it could almost be missed except that Austin knew what he saw…or what he wished to see. He didn't know if it were his imagination or not. He stared harder. The Rock's chest heaved once…twice…then deflated for good.

"There now. That wasn't so bad. I can smell that The Rock is cookin'. Can you smell it Austin?" Paul Heyman asked with sadistic delight. He traced a finger on The Rock's back and blew black ash into the air.

"I don't smell anythin'," Austin whimpered staring at the ground. He tried to avoid the sight of the destroyed Rock hunched over in the chair, his facial features melted off and immersed in blood and tissue.

"Oh, but you do. You smell the results of his culinary efforts. Don't be saddened by what happened to Rocky. I know you guys shared a special connection when you guys were locked up. Look at it this way: he truly was the most electrified man in sports entertainment. Even he would be happy to know that he lived up to the title he put on himself." Paul cackled.

"He's still alive…I saw him breathing. There's hope for him."

"A mere wish that I can not grant you."

"Get him a doctor—quick!" Austin kicked the ground to emphasize his point.

"A doctor? Ha!" Paul scoffed. "A coroner is more appropriate for him now."

"But he is alive."

"I don't think so." The ECW owner shook his head in mock sympathy as Stone Cold's mind continued to deteriorate faster than The Rock's dead body.

"He is…I saw him."

"You saw what you wanted to see."

He watched the last WWF superstar shrivel before his gaze.

"I have one thing to tell you that will make you feel better," Paul began.

Stone Cold looked up with hope glistening in his blue crystal eyes.

"He wasn't the last one to go."

"He wasn't?" He felt relieved.

"No, he was the second to last one…you're the last one. You're next Austin."

Stone Cold's mouth opened and dribbled drool as his tongue licked his teeth.

"I'm the last…?"

"Yes, the very last one and then the revolution will be complete."

"Why me? Why make ol' Stone Cold Steve Austin be the last one? He's no one special."

"Oh, but he is very special. More special than he realizes. You see, Rocky isn't—or shall I say—wasn't— the only one that truly irked my last nerve. Stone Cold, you are the main key and the reason for the entire Invasion."

"How so? What do ya mean?"

"Before there was Rock, there was you. Stunning Steve Austin of the Hollywood Blondes and your stint with my fed back in the day—or have you forgotten already?"

Stone Cold's mouth opened and shut. Paul Heyman was right. Before Stone Cold Steve Austin and Stunning Steve Austin, he had been affiliated with ECW. He hadn't been a big star by any means, but he was under Paul's wings for a few years until he moved up to WCW and then to WWF where his long and hard work of eight years in the wrestling business would finally blossom for him.

"You destroyed us Steve…by making WWF bigger than ECW and WCW put together. You shaved your head, called yourself 'Stone Cold', and drove your monster truck into packed arenas. No one cared for the real wrestling anymore. You got larger than life and surpassed other legends to an extent. Everyone wanted to watch what you would do in the WWF. No one cared that you had started from my fed or WCW. And every moment you got you bashed both feds. This was a long time coming and it's finally here. I got rid of WWF competition and formed a union with WCW. We will become the dominant one in the pro-wrestling industry. With you and WWF out of the way, we can start over fresh. It was just a matter of time before we finally got to you. But you're next Austin."

Paul Heyman smiled at Stone Cold, who stared at him as if he were a ghost. The other wrestlers slowly trickled out of the room as quickly as they came in.

Debra linked her arms around Stone Cold's neck in the way he had once loved. She tilted her head and kept her eyes on his. Slowly, she kissed him deeply; her lips becoming one with his. As she pulled back, she whispered in his ear.

"Good-bye Steve. Ah love you. Ah always did."

He watched her leave and knew it would be the last time he saw her.

Finally, it was just Paul Heyman and Stone Cold in the room together. He was still in his white straitjacket and he tried pulling his arms apart. No success. Paul walked around the room picking up the WWF memorabilia and examining it. He put Kurt Angle's Olympic Gold medals in his mouth and bit down to see if they were genuine gold. Stone Cold watched him. He tossed the medals away and peered at Austin across the room.

"You have a decision to either join us or reject us. Which one is it gonna be?"

In a brief silver streak, his sanity returned to him and he was eternally grateful.

"WWF. The World Wrestling Federation is my home. I can't deny that or leave it t'join your murderous group. You guys killed off my family and friends. And ya killed Rocky."

"We didn't kill him. We put him out of his misery. And judging by your answer, you'll be the next one to be put of your misery. You're next Austin. You had a choice like Rock and you blew it away for a dead federation that will never rise from the ashes."

Paul Heyman walked to the door and turned around one last time.

"Maybe you will change your mind in a day, a week, or even a month. By then the WECW will reign supreme and nothing you do will stop us. I'll come back here in another week or so. If you choose not to be with us, then you have already chosen your fate."

"My fate is with WWF. I've saved ya the trouble of makin' decisions for me. Ya can come back in another hour if ya want to off me. It will just add t'your list of casualties."

"In order to win the war, there must be casualties."

Paul stared at him for the longest time, before finally leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

Stone Cold stared at the floor littered with WWF souvenirs. He looked at the charred remains of The Rock. He had spoken to him only a few hours ago. Now he was gone…now the entire World Wrestling Federation was gone. Himself included. He stood up and tottered around trying not to lose his balance. The straitjacket weighed him down and he fell against the Undertaker's motorcycle. He wrinkled his nose as the dead burning stench still hung about in the air. He wondered if The Rock was truly gone. He managed to stand up again and hobble in front of the corpse.

"Rocky? There's no wall between us. We can talk now."

The Rock looked up at the sound of his name and winked at Stone Cold.

The Texan screamed; his insane howl chopped the night air into tiny glass fragments.

Paul Heyman had already taken his brain and smashed it to pieces.

The final blackness closed over his mind and Stone Cold Steve Austin never saw the light again.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

The Voice on the Other Side is an extreme fan-fiction and it was extreme story to write. I did not warn of excessive violence and character death(s) in the beginning because I did not want to jade the reader. I felt the story should stand by itself and that if given the appropriate rating, the story can be taken for what it is.

My inspirations for this fanfiction came from the InVasion storyline in the WWF involving all three major federations. DC Comics/CATWOMAN #81 where Selina Kyle/Catwoman is imprisoned in solitary confinement and tells her life story to the unseen voice (the person on the other side being Harleen Quinzel/Harleyquinn) was a major element in this work. The Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker soundtrack helped set the mood in certain scenes. Two songs, "Precious Things" by Tori Amos and "Up Against the Wind" by Lori Perri from the Set It Off soundtrack inspired the mood with both their intense lyrics and painful bittersweet melodies.

The conflict of old school wrestling—what professional wrestling used to be in the 60's, 70's, and 80's, versus what it is now and what it has become were drawn from the views and arguments from older wrestling fans and fans who have been watching for a longer time. Shawn Fitzy, Army-Sabu, Digital Sirkit-Joe, Brian and Chris from Linens N Things, Pro4Life Brian, David-Pollo, Jeff Starr, Ernie-Syck, and Sean-Klepto, are friends of mine and old school wrestling fans. I hope I brought out your views (about wrestling being based on physical ability and work in the ring) clearly and concisely in this story as I felt they were important.

I would like to give a special thank you to God for giving me the courage to write this because it wasn't easy. I want to thank you the following people: David, Dana, Tiara, Felicia, Mimi, Claire, and Hayden. All of you guys are special to me and encouraged me to post this story. I was unsure if I should post this story because of the recent 9-11 tragedy. I love you all. Thank you for your help and support.

**Sassy Lil Scorpio**


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